Dark Encore
by reptilia28
Summary: Harry Potter is ready to begin the next great adventure, but there is one who would not see him go just yet. After all, what fun would that be? Second verse, same as the first... Canon compliant.


I do not own Harry Potter.

* * *

Harry James Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the man who saved the wizarding world, was dying.

Not by disease, poison or a curse, mind you. Despite his former occupation as an auror, a magical law enforcer, he had managed to live a long and fruitful life. He was simply dying as all good men hope to do: In his bed, peacefully succumbing to the ravages of time.

Over his 184 years of life, he had witnessed the birthing of three children, seven grandchildren, and twenty-two great-grandchildren. Pretty impressive for someone who had once doubted that he would live to see his eighteenth birthday. But his long life was not always bright. Due to his unusual power, or perhaps a simple quirk of genetics, Harry had managed to far outlive almost every other member of his generation. His last childhood friend, Hermione Weasley nee Granger, died in her sleep some thirty years prior. His own wife, Ginny, died nearly fifty years ago. Now, Death had finally come to claim him as well. He looked around to see his family surrounding him.

"Do not weep for me," he beseeched, his soft, frail voice nonetheless carrying throughout the room, "for I will soon be seeing my friends and family again. And someday, I will see you again too."

"I'll miss you, grand-papa," cried Ariel, his youngest great-grandchild at only seven years of age. Like most of the Potter clan, she inherited her patriarch's emerald-green eyes, though she was blessed with golden locks of hair from her mother rather than the traditional Potter rat's nest.

"And I will miss you too, my dear," Harry said as he raised a thin, bony hand to wipe away the girl's tears. "But do not cry for me, for death is not a curse. It is simply the first step towards the next great adventure." He snapped his hand to his mouth as he began to cough violently, each one louder and more forceful than the last. When he stopped, his lungs burned with each breath and he could feel his heart weakening with every beat. "James, come closer, my son," he declared, his voice barely audible. The crowd parted to make way for Harry's eldest son, himself an old man. "You are to be the head of the Potter family when I am gone," he said simply.

"Thank you, Father," James said, bowing his head. "I will do my best to make you proud," he continued earnestly.

"You already have, my son," Harry replied sincerely. "Nothing makes me prouder than to see you all standing here before me now." He felt himself growing weaker by the second. "I love you all, and I will see you on the other side." With a smile at his family, Harry closed his eyes and breathed out a final, contented breath.

Harry James Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, savior of the wizarding world, was dead.

* * *

Harry's entry into the afterlife was not what he expected. He was anticipating seeing his dearly departed loved ones or even finding himself at the King's Cross train station like he had so many decades before. Instead, the first thing he noticed was clapping. He opened his eyes to see himself still in his bed at Potter Mansion; however, where once his family surrounded him, the room was totally empty, save for one figure.

"Bravo, bravo! Another outstanding performance," the person cheered. It was a man seemingly in his late twenties with pale skin and slicked-back blonde hair that disturbingly reminded Harry of his former rival Draco Malfoy when they were both youths. He wore a dapper black suit with a single white stripe going down the length of his arms and legs, along with several horizontal white stripes along the length of his jacket. He also wore a bone-white tie, black gloves with similar white lines going down his fingers, and stylish sunglasses that completely concealed his eyes from view. "You never fail to turn in an award-winning show, Mister Potter."

"Who are you?" Harry demanded, confused by the mysterious man's display. Thinking back to what he had said a moment before, he added, "And what do you mean by, 'another performance'? Have we met before?" The man seemed to be expecting these questions, as he just pulled up a chair and sat down next to Harry, giving a wide, face-splitting grin that showed just a bit too little warmth and too many teeth for the elderly wizard's liking.

"Who am I? That's a bit of a tricky question," the man said as he settled into his seat. "I don't really have a name – or, perhaps more accurately – I have many, many names. But for now, you can call me Dee. As for your second and third questions, yes, we have met before. You just don't remember it." Harry blinked in confusion before narrowing his eyes at the self-styled "Dee".

"Explain," he ordered.

"Okay," Dee quipped cheerfully. "Long story short, I normally have a hands-off policy when it comes to the affairs of mortals. Simply too many of them in the universe to pay attention to them all," he explained, spreading his arms out wide to emphasize his statement. "But every so often, one particular individual will do something interesting to catch my attention. And _you_, Mister Potter, surviving a curse that by all rights _should_ have killed you, definitely qualifies as interesting." Throughout his entire explanation, Dee had yet to drop his unsettling grin. "After watching you go through your life, I began to wonder if I turned back the clock, so to speak, would you do the same things you did before, or would things turn out differently. So I did." Dee's grin finally slipped into an expression combining equal amounts of mild disappointment and irritation. "To my disappointment, you did the exact same thing in all six lives, and even the best performance gets boring after repeated viewings."

Harry stared at Dee in shock. Six times he had lived his life? He struggled to comprehend that revelation, along with the implications that accompanied it.

"Then it occurred to me a way to make things interesting," Dee continued, either oblivious or uncaring to Harry's disposition. "I thought, why not send you back again, but this time let you keep your memories? Knowing how things will go ahead of times would certainly make changing them easier, don't you agree?" he asked. It took a moment for Harry to realize what Dee was implying.

"No!" the wizard shouted. "I won't go back! I've lived my life, now I want to see my friends and family again!"

"Really?" Dee asked, showing no surprise at Harry's outburst. "Not even to save those whose lives were tragically cut short? Mister Diggory for instance, or your godfather? I'm sure that there are several people that could save if you went back." Harry's next tirade stopped short. Truthfully, he had thought many times of how he would have done things differently if had another chance, how he could have saved so many more lives if he knew now what he did then. But he was young and much less wise then.

"I admit, that offer _is_ tempting, and I _have_ thought about it before," Harry reluctantly admitted, suppressing the urge to scowl at Dee's triumphant look, "but, I know that those people I would have saved are in a better place now, and I will be seeing them soon, so again, I'm not going back. I refuse." To Harry's surprise, this only served to make Dee throw back his head and laugh, like he had just been told some hilarious joke.

"You refuse?" the other man echoed. "Oh Harry," he said in a pitying tone, as if speaking to a particularly slow individual. "Poor, foolish Harry. What in the name of all of creation makes you think I'm giving you a _choice_ in the matter?" Dee leaned forward, propping up his chin on his knuckles. "I'm sending you back, with your memories. Even if you try to do things exactly as before, we both know that you just can't resist being the hero, and you'll try to save as many people as you can."

"I won't play your game," Harry snarled, trying to ignore Dee's strikingly accurate comment about him.

"I ask again, what makes you think I'm giving you a choice?" asked the being, for Harry was quite certain that despite appearances, the man sitting before him was anything but human. "And besides, if sending you alone isn't enough, I can always send another back as well. Perhaps that Riddle fellow? He seems like an interesting sort." Harry felt a chill, and if he still had blood, it would have swiftly drained from his face. Riddle was the birth name of his nemesis the dark wizard Voldemort. The man had nearly brought the wizarding world to ruin, and was responsible for dozens, if not hundreds of deaths. If he was brought back to life, with all the knowledge of his past life….

"You wouldn't…" Harry gasped. "You can't! Voldemort was bad enough the first time! If he knew what happened before, he'd be unstoppable! Millions could be killed!" Dee's response to this was an uncaring shrug.

"I certainly can," he replied. "Whether or not, I _will_…I haven't decided yet; certainly not this time around. You have to admit, though, that it would definitely make things more interesting, would it not?"

"You're a monster," Harry spat, glaring contemptuously at his apparent puppeteer.

"No, just an ageless, extradimensional being who loves being entertained," Dee countered. Now, are you willing to cooperate, or are we going to have to negotiate some more?" he asked. Harry shot him a hateful glare, but it ran out of energy when he came to the conclusion that yes, he really did have no choice in the matter.

"All right, I'll do it," he quietly said. Looking up at his new – or was it old? – jailer, he asked, "How long are we going to be doing this?"

"Till you stop being entertaining," Dee replied with a shrug. Ignoring Harry's horrified look, he added, "One last thing before we get things started. Now that you know you have an audience, do try your best to put on a good show, will you?" Holding his hands far apart, Dee gave one final clap, and Harry's world went dark.

* * *

The first thing Harry noticed was the warmth. Then the pressure. Then the fact that he couldn't move or even breathe. Whatever prison he found himself trapped in was so constricting that he couldn't even struggle; at the same time, he felt himself being slowly and periodically pushed forward. All the while he could barely hear muffled voices, the loudest being that of a woman screaming in pain.

Just as he thought he was going to faint from oxygen deprivation, his world exploded in light, and he let out a mighty cry. Soon the rest of his body was freed from imprisonment and he felt himself being lifted up. His skin felt slimy, and on the whole he felt weak. Helpless. Small. He slowly opened his eyes and saw beings bigger than the tallest giants towering over him. He turned his head to see a woman lying in a bed, her skin pale and clammy and her fiery red hair clinging to her face, but her emerald eyes shone with boundless joy. Beside her was a man with a tangled mess of black hair and hazel eyes behind a pair of round spectacles. He suddenly realized what had just happened, and knowing what would soon come to pass, and being helpless to stop it, Harry began to struggle and scream louder.

* * *

"Whoa, he's a feisty one," the healer exclaimed as he struggled to contain the kicking and screaming newborn baby. One of the lesser healers drew her wand and cast a calming charm on the infant, settling him down to a more manageable temperament. After a quick round of cleaning charms, removing the umbilical cord, and wrapping him in a freshly-conjured diaper and blanket, passed the now passive child to the proud parents. "Congratulations, Mister and Missus Potter. You have a very healthy baby boy." As the lesser healers guided the mother through nursing her newborn child, the head healer asked, "What shall his name be?"

"I don't know, we've had a hard time deciding on names," the proud father admitted. Turning to his wife, he continued, "What do you think his name should be, Lily?" Lily Potter looked down at her son, the shining star in her life, currently partaking in his first meal ever, and smiled.

"I think his name should be Harry," she said. "Harry James Potter."

* * *

**A/N:** Over the years, I've grown rather weary of my Don't Fear the Reaper challenge for a variety of reasons. Partly because all the responses to that challenge seem to blur together into one giant mass, but mostly because I've grown to dislike the clichés that that challenge promotes. This is basically me venting over it.

This is a one-shot, so I don't plan on expanding it.

I would like to thank slicerness, who's own take on my challenge **Death's Rage** gave me the motivation to write this.

Don't forget to leave a review.


End file.
